


Stay Here Just A Little Bit Longer

by telemachus



Series: Gigolas zoo-verse AU [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aging, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Hospital, Illness/injury, M/M, Moving On, Parent Thranduil, Zookeeper AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And More of the Zoo-verse.</p><p>Waiting in Hospital, Caradhil considers - life, and where now, and stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a medical professional (far from it) - or indeed, a zookeeper; this is a story, I have tried to be light on details so that errors won't show.....
> 
>  
> 
> .

All I ever truly wanted, I think.

Just you.

You.

To love me.

And – and you do. But – still – we have made, we continue to make – so many mistakes.

Here in the quiet, I can hear his breathing next to me.

If I turned my head, I would see him.

I don’t.

I simply – wait. Hands touching, but not holding.

Listening to the hospital noises, the machines, the feet outside, the muted chat.

Soon enough the doctors, or nurses, or whatever they are, will come in again, and utter platitudes, and on it goes, this waiting.

The boys will be in and out, I suppose.

Jacinth perhaps – no. She will be with her children.

They won’t come. This isn’t the sort of place you bring children.

This isn’t the way anyone wants to be seen or remembered.

Listening to his breath, I drift off. If I can hear him, then – I don’t need to be afraid.

 

 

 

Time passes.

I don’t understand what the doctors say, the kind words of the nurses.

None of it makes sense to me.

I don’t know what the outcome will be – where we go – if we go anywhere together – from here.

Or is this the end?

But – I’m not ready.

I don’t want this to be the end.

However old we are – I’m not ready.

We – we wasted so long – there is still so much unsaid – unexplained.

It’s not – not fair.

Stupid.

As though death is ever fair. As though anyone is ever ready.

And I remember he lost his wife, his eldest son, so long ago – the other boys so young – this – isn’t as cruel as that.

So stop complaining, Caradhil.

Just recently you have been happier than you ever thought you would be. Think of that, and do not long for something that can’t be.

I tell myself this, still listening to his breathing, still feeling his hand next to mine.

 

 

 

But I keep remembering – yesterday – was it yesterday – I don’t know, I have lost track of time as one does in hospitals – yesterday, I got back to my office – and found he had phoned me.

He never – never – phones during the working day.

There was no message, he’d just phoned – told them not to bother finding me, no problems, he didn’t need me, nothing like that.

There was an email – not long, not affectionate – just

_C,_   
_Tried phoning. No reason, don’t phone back._   
_Should be home at a reasonable time tonight, but don’t wait up._   
_T._

And I wondered – I let myself wonder – if he was missing me even half as much as I missed him. First day back, you see – first day back from – a fortnight – a whole fortnight – together.

Honeymoon.

However ridiculous that sounds at our age, after so many years. 

_Don’t wait up._

I wanted to phone him. 

Ask if he meant – please wait up, but I won’t ask it – or – don’t wait up, I want to find you in bed.

I wanted so much to phone him.

Why didn’t I?

Nothing now would be different – except – everything would be, if I had picked up the phone, and told him how much I love him, how happy I am.

Oh Thranduil, I think, why did I not tell you again how I love you?

But I didn’t.

I smiled, I know I smiled, and – I didn’t even reply.

Old habits die hard, you see. I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe he would want me to phone him at work.

I didn’t even email.

I had a meeting to go to. I thought I would answer later.

But later – it was too late.

 

 

 

 

Still quiet, still no change.

I think Thwon and Dwar have been here – but I’m not sure. I can’t think of anything but him, of how much I want things to – to be alright.

How I love him so.

For the first time, it feels to me, I am thinking of nothing but him – nothing but my own needs and desires – not of the boys, not of work, of what should be done – just – Thranduil. Oh my Thranduil.

And I wonder if he can hear me, somehow.

I don’t suppose so.

But – oh my Thranduil, I love you so.

I was so happy.

 

 

 

 

So happy that we seemed to be – alright – that you began to understand how much I love you. That I – I saw, at last, what I should have seen long ago – I saw that you do love me, in your way.

That our problems, over the years, have been as much my making as yours – that your reserve, my too-accepting silence have conspired against us – your diffidence, unwillingness to be – to be an ‘example to the gay community’ of success in business – has been no worse than my – my desperate need to give your sons all the time and attention any child could want, and more.

So happy that – finally – we could laugh and touch, kiss even, in public. That you – you stood in front of – a very small number of people, if I am honest – and took me for your husband. Danced with me.

I am not, I know, a good dancer. Not that sort of dancing. Not waltzing, ballroom dancing – I never learnt – it is not the sort of music I like, not something I enjoy. I suppose, if I am honest, I am not a good dancer at all, these days. It is so long since I went out, dressed to kill, drank, danced, looked over all the talent available, and went home with – whichever lucky lad I fancied.

No, those days are long gone.

I don’t know why I even remember them now.

You danced with me at our wedding.

In front of your sons, in front of those of your old friends who would accept the invitation, in front of those few from your work who you deem to be more than employees – and in front of my friends, some of whom I happen to work with – you stood up and said those things, let me say aloud the words I have been trying to say every moment of my life since I met you – you danced with me – you kissed me.

You must love me to do all that.

And I – I love you so.

You are my world, Thranduil, my life, my everything.

And I don’t think I could ever say it enough.

 

 

 

So why – why did I not email you, phone you, something?

Why did I not say it again, regardless of how you might tut at me, or use that voice that tells me you are in a meeting, not to be disturbed?

Why did I not find some way to say again – I love you, you have made me so happy, if I could think I had made you half as happy my life was worthwhile?

Why did I let reserve, and fear of your – perhaps never very real – anger stop me?

 

 

 

 

Now – I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, if we can only have – all I now hope for – another moment, another chance to say – all the things I should have said. Even if we never leave this room, if this is the end – I just want a chance to say it all.

Perhaps hear some sweet words in return.

But to say it, to know you hear me one more time, more than anything, is what I want.

I love you Thranduil. Always.

And there is much I would change – but – never the years of being with you. Whatever the cost I had to pay, I would not lose those years.


	2. Chapter 2

Someone else is here now. Only – I can’t see, can’t concentrate on them.

“How is he?” it is my little Legolas speaking, “is there any change? Any news? Any – he will be alright, won’t he?”

Oh Legolas. I’m so sorry.

“Ada,” he goes on, “ada – please? I – I’m sorry. I did my best. I – please, don’t be angry. Caradhil will be alright – surely?”

I’m sorry, little one.

“Get out,” he hisses, and oh my Thranduil, please no – no, don’t be like this, “Legolas, haven’t you done enough? Why the hell did you let him go in after the damn child? Why – you are supposed to be so bloody good – why let him – and why the – the sodding fuck were you so slow with the tranquiliser darts?”

I can’t see Legolas, I don’t need to. I can hear his breathing change, and – and I know how hurt he is, and – and it isn’t fair, it wasn’t his fault, and – and maybe this is the stimulus I need, because I find, I can, just, I can move my hand, touch Thranduil, open my eyes, and it feels as though – as though they are clogged with honey, and from somewhere, somehow, I manage,

“No. Legolas – not blame.”

At least, that is what I am trying to say. It’s not clear, and it doesn’t make sense, not really, but – Thranduil hears me, and he turns, and his hand is holding mine, and – and he leans down over me, and – and oh beloved, you are become old, yet – yet I love you so, and I am so glad you are here, so glad you must have forgiven me.

“My star,” he says, and that is all. 

I don’t know what else – there was something else I needed to say, but I don’t know – I can’t think – just that he is here.

Vaguely, I can hear Legolas calling for someone to come, I can hear footsteps – doctors or someone I suppose – coming to see what is going on – but I don’t care. All that matters is that he is here, and holding me, and looking at me.

He isn’t smiling.

Not angry though. Just – he looks hurt. He – if he weren’t Thranduil, I would say those were tears in his eyes. But Thranduil doesn't cry.

Ever.

He bites his lip, and I – I don’t think I have ever seen him do that. He swallows, and I can watch and – and oh he is beautiful to me.

I just want to look at him.

Then I remember, slowly, what it was I needed to say, to do.

“I love you, always.” 

That's what I am trying to say. I don’t think it’s clear, don’t think it can be heard at all, even by him, close as he is, above the machines, and the talking, and the – the noise.

Story of my life, I think, I spent so long trying to say it, and it was always drowned out, you never heard it.

“Only you. You make me so happy.”

He seems to be understanding, I don’t know how. The hand that isn’t holding mine strokes through my hair, and he leans further, our noses touching, I – I am breathing his air, and – and maybe that's enough.

“I love you, my star,” he says, and then, “stop this. I need you to get better. I need you. I – I shall be furious with Legolas otherwise. You – Caradhil – you wouldn’t leave him in trouble?”

But I know he doesn't mean it, not this time.

“Back where we began?” I want to whisper, thinking of all the times I defended that little boy, and he – he understands, and he laughs, a little, shaky, and then, 

“Don’t make me go through this again,” he says, and I – I had not thought of that.

My poor Thranduil.

He has buried his wife, buried his eldest son.

No.

He shouldn’t have to bury his lover – no, husband – as well.

I look at him, drink in the sight of him, and I wonder if his will is enough to hold me.

 

 

 

 

Quiet again now.

I don’t know how much time has passed.

He is still here.

I can hardly believe it. He must have been here – hours. Maybe even overnight. 

Longer perhaps.

Or – or I daresay he has been home, come back.

That seems more likely.

It is just – I haven’t happened to wake when he wasn’t here.

Sitting by me.

I can hear him breathing – feel the warmth of his hand by mine.

He might be asleep.

I don’t care. He is here. That’s all that matters.

Keep going over what happened. Stupid. Stupid mistake. 

Worrying.

We never had a death – never any kind of incident. I don’t know what went wrong. When we came out of that meeting – Legolas and I – we were going to – I don’t remember. Somewhere. 

Maybe to look at the mansion?

Or – I don’t know.

But there was a child – got in the tiger enclosure.

I don’t know how. I don’t see how it could happen.

But it had.

Screaming, panicking. Worst thing you can do, actually. Parents going spare outside – they didn’t follow – so – I don’t see how the child got in.

Anyway.

We didn’t even have to look at each other, we ran. Went in the keeper’s entrance, I went in fully, to try and get the child – he went to unlock the dart-gun.

I – I don’t really remember beyond that.

Vaguely. Child screaming. Grabbing him. Tiger – Bernie – turning on me – shouting at the child to run – knowing it wasn’t badly hurt – blood. So much blood.

Seeing Legolas.

Realising I was between him and Bernie. Stopping him firing.

Hearing him sing. That calming song – doesn't always work – but – often. Seemed to a bit.

Not enough.

Hearing the dart sing over my shoulder. Being grateful for all the hours of play with airguns, bows, darts. All the practice.

Waiting – just waiting for it to work.

Hearing the child still screaming.

Don’t remember much else.

Stupid mistake.

Don’t know what.

We were too slow. Too preoccupied with – with talking about his children, his Gimli. Legolas angry about – something – raging. Don’t remember why.

Legolas angry with me. Saying I forgave too easy. 

Don’t remember what, or who.

Legolas – Legolas angry with his father.

Nothing new there.

But – stupid. Stupid mistake. 

 

 

 

 

“Ada,” it is Legolas speaking again, “Ada, you have to go and eat something, you are no good to him if you make yourself ill.”

I don’t know what he means, don’t understand. Never heard him speak to his father like that.

Trying to hear Thranduil’s voice.

Want him. Want to know he is alright.

Try to look. Can’t. Not easily.

But – he leans over me again, and – and he kisses me.

I don’t remember the last time he was so – affectionate – never in front of anyone, never outside home.

Just wish I – I could show him how much it means to me.

“Love you,” he says, and I can’t remember him saying that before, not like that, “I – I will not be long, my star, stay here for me, wait for me.”

I want to smile, want to say I have waited for him since the day I met him, that I would wait forever – but I can’t. 

And – it isn’t true.

I am afraid I don’t have very long at all.

I don’t know why, I don’t feel in pain, just – sleepy – but – the way he is so – tender. It scares me.

The door shuts, and I hear Legolas sigh.

Don’t sigh, little one, I think. 

“Oh Caradhil,” he starts, and I wonder if he really thinks I am listening, or is he talking to himself again, “I am so sorry. I was so – slow, so angry, so – it isn’t like the practices, when it happens. You said that. You were right. I – what should I tell you? It is alright, we aren’t in trouble; at least the first investigation doesn't think so. I know you, I know you will be worrying about that. But it is ok. You haven’t – we haven’t – cost Ada money, lost his reputation, anything like that. Stupid child, stupid parents, bad luck. Child is fine. Recovered quickly,” he snorts, and I think he swears under his breath, “but oh Caradhil. It’s been – I don’t know if you realise – weeks now.”

No.

I didn’t realise.

But – but Thranduil – has been here.

I manage to focus again, and he – he notices, and slips to his knees, I suppose, beside me,

“What is it? Caradhil? Ada will be back soon. It is alright, I – did you hear all that?”

“Work,” I whisper, and I see his puzzlement, “Thranduil – work?”

He swallows, and takes my hand,

“Work will manage without him,” he says, “he – he only wants to be with you. He loves you, you idiot.”

I blink.

“Yes, he does,” Legolas goes on, “in his way – a way that I don’t think anyone else would put up with. I – I don’t know how you forgive him so – but you do – and he loves you. You know that.”

Yes.

But – I never – I didn’t think he loved me that much.

“Oh shit,” Legolas says, “oh shit, Caradhil, don’t cry, please don’t cry. It’s going to be ok. I – I think – god, I hope so – I – Ada will make it ok. He’ll be here soon. I – please – stop it – I can’t – oh shit.”

Blink again. 

Swallow.

Mustn’t upset him.

He’s only little.

I manage a sort of smile, and then – then I go back to sleep. Still holding his hand.

Nice.

Can’t remember the last time my little boy held my hand.

 

 

 

 

Next time I wake, it’s all a bit clearer, and – and Legolas isn’t there. Thranduil is, and he pats my hand, smiles, does his best to chat.

Not very good at bedside chat.

I don’t care.

I find I don’t care about anything much.

Not so long as he smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

Each time I wake, I feel clearer, and it lasts longer.

Soon enough I am – apparently – able to start moving.

Slowly.

Too old for this.

My own damn fault I suppose. Should have left the heroics to Legolas.

Only I couldn’t do that.

Anyway.

Definitely getting better now.

Thranduil – isn’t here so often. Well. Hardly at all.

He comes by after work, for an hour or so.

But – I don’t have anything to say, not really, nothing to entertain, and no energy to try. He – has never been good at this sort of thing.

I don’t mind.

It doesn't matter.

Legolas comes by most days – he seems to have organised things so he is free either in the morning or lunchtime generally. And he has things to tell me, to discuss – he seems to be coping quite well.

Not so little.

All grown up.

Little things about work – nothing important. He must be sheltering me, and I know it, but I don’t have the energy to complain.

Things about the children. Just – easy things – little stories. He seems – they seem – to be very happy.

He doesn’t mention Gimli as much as he used to, I notice. And I – I wish I could remember – what we were talking about – had they had an argument – I don’t know. I just don’t know, and I can’t ask.

Still. He seems – in control of his own life.

For almost the first time I can remember.

‘Thwon and ‘Dwar make it over more often than I’d expect. 

“You’ll be going home soon,” ‘Dwar says, and then – he looks at his feet, and I wonder what he is about to say, “will you go back to work?”

I blink. Didn’t expect that. But he’s the easiest somehow – least emotional. If I ask a straight question, I’ll get a straight answer. So,

“What have you heard?”

He looks at his feet again.

“Nothing. Well. Only. Legolas – seems – I don’t know. Competent. He’s not talked about you going back. I wondered – if you didn’t want to. Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But Ada – oh you know what he’s like. He hasn’t even – he doesn't seem to see you might not want to – might need more time.”

No.

If he did, he might have to accept he is not as young as he’d like to think he is. Not immortal, invincible.

“I hadn’t thought,” I say, honestly enough, “it all seems a bit – unreal – at the moment.”

He nods, looking at his feet again, and then, 

“Go home when you can – see how things are. To be honest, Caradhil, its time – how can I say it – time Ada started easing off a bit,” he pauses, and then it all comes out in a rush, “he isn’t quite as – as on top of it all as he used to be – and – and I don’t know – we don’t know – how to say it. So – if you – could you – ask him to be at home more – with you – I don’t know – try and ease him into retirement maybe?”

Oh.

Oh my poor Thranduil.

Oh ‘Dwar, I didn’t want to know that.

But yes, yes I will do what I can, of course.

Although, I want to add, don’t hold out much hope. When did I ever influence your father?

I don’t say it. 

I don’t say any of how I feel – ‘Dwar isn’t one for long emotional outpourings, never has been.

Nor am I, not really.

But after ‘Dwar has gone, I sit for a long time staring at nothing.

So.

My poor, poor Thranduil.

You are truly become old – and your boys do not know how to tell you. And so they turn to me – and I – how can I say this to you?

Oh my poor Thranduil.

How can I say to you – there is no longer a place for you in your empire, it is time to hand over, to step back?

‘Dwar’s suggestion, that I claim I need you more – almost makes me smile in its naivety.

Sometimes I wonder what it says about us – and about the boys – that they believe all to be well, to have always been well between us.

Especially Legolas.

He came this afternoon, on his way home, just popped in for a minute or two – he knows I am supposed to go home tomorrow – wanted to reassure me.

“You have seen the photos before – they are lovely, Caradhil, almost as lovely as my wedding photos – but he hasn’t told you – Ada has had one of you framed. Put in his study. Next to the photo of my mother. And another of the two of you, dancing, in the living-room.”

He smiled, pleased as anything, full of the joys of marriage, of being loved, of loving.

And – and now I have to go home, and look at them, and not let on that it hurts that I am so changed, that I will not dance with him again like that. Because – that he has done that, how much he is trying to show me he loves me, is beyond anything I ever expected.

He loves me.

Of course, I always loved him.

Always have, always will. Always I have wanted only to make his life easier, happier, better – always I have tried, and, I think, mostly I have done. But now, alone and quiet in this room, I need not hide from my feelings, I need not pretend, need not act as so often I must for the sake of appearances, of keeping all calm and well. Tonight I weep not only for what I have lost – what he has lost – that I am not so fit, so attractive as I was only weeks ago, but I weep for him, for his loss of power that is coming; I weep that I do not know how to make this next part of our lives easier.


	3. Chapter 3

Some days when I go into his room he does not even look up, does his best not to acknowledge my existence, not to meet my eyes, but some days he looks at me from the bed; and I realise – he does not even know who I am.

You bastard, I think, you complete and utter bastard.

It is a long while, a very long while – more years now than – Christ, than I had even lived back then.

But still.

You should remember me, Caradhil.

If you take home a boy some ten years younger than you on his first night out, take him to your bed, fuck him all night – fuck him good and proper and every way you can think of – if you keep him on a string for the next year – two and a half years – knowing he is in love with you, knowing that, and using him as – as a convenient fuck while you – you pursue the love of your life, convert _him_ from orthodox widowerhood – if you laugh at him when he finally has the courage to tell you how he feels – if you shake your head in pity, in patronage, and tell him he doesn’t know what love is yet – tell him he is too young to know – if you send him crying out into a February evening – heartbroken – and never speak to him again, avoid him in clubs, tell your friends to drop him – doesn’t that boy have a right to expect you to at least remember him all these years later?

Maybe not my face, my body – it’s a long time, I daresay I have changed, even as you have, though I would have known you anywhere. 

But my name?

It is hardly a common name, and thanks to the hospital policy of inclusiveness, friendliness, whatever it is called, my first name is right here, on my chest, on my badge.

And you can read it – there is nothing wrong with your eyes.

Just with – something else inside of you, that you don’t care, don’t remember how you broke my heart.

I suspect you don’t even remember I exist, edit me out of the story of your life.

But I exist, and I was there, and yes, I was heartbroken – I was not too young to know what love is – I loved you, Caradhil.

And now – now I find I am your nursing assistant.

It is my task to keep you clean, and presentable. Feed you, wash you – brush your hair until you are well enough to do it yourself – help you move about – change your bed – keep your room tidy – all things that once – once I would have given anything to do for you. To care for you like this was all I wanted.

Now – now, you bastard, things are changed.

I should – and with all others I do – also make the effort to talk to you, to remind you of all that there is for you to live for, of your life, waiting for you out there.

Your presumably happy life.

You bastard.

Years it took me to get over you. Years of – of not caring very much at all for myself, for what I did, who I slept with, where I went, what I took, my studies.

None of it seemed to matter much.

I failed, of course.

Lost my place, my scholarship.

Didn’t go home though.

How could I?

Oh no, you won’t remember that either.

You won’t remember I came out to my parents because you said – without thinking, I understand now – you said everyone should, as a matter of principle.

You won’t remember how they reacted.

It doesn’t matter now, not really. So many years ago.

I was lucky, I suppose, that you – you were _such_ a bastard.

You dropped a whole swathe of your friends at the same time you dropped me, when you were reinventing yourself.

Some of them were kinder than you, saw how things were for me.

I won’t let myself remember it all now, all the favours, the favours for friends, the – it doesn’t matter now.

Time passes.

Even the most love-sick youths grow up.

Get a job, and then another, and pay their way.

Find a way to get back in touch with their brother, even if their parents have died in the lost years.

Meet someone – someone kind, and considerate.

Someone who – for the first time in a long while – believes in them.

Shows them – they can start again.

So I did.

Never went back to school.

I’ll never be a doctor – of any sort – like I wanted to be. 

Can’t afford it – and they don’t want applicants with my record.

But this – it’s different, it’s not something I would have wanted when I was eighteen, but – maybe in the end, I prefer it. Helping people, setting them back on their feet, literally sometimes, day to day long term contact.

I tell myself that, even though I know it is a lie. Because how else can I cope?

This is calmer.

Steady hours, too.

And that – that makes a difference to our life. Easier for both of us.

I was lucky. Jaime – Jaime is the best thing that could have happened to me.

He’s kind, and considerate, sensible, and attractive enough, and – and loves me. I love him, in a way, a very grown-up, sensible way.

He doesn’t make my heart race, doesn’t make me feel sick with need and longing, doesn’t make my sense fly away from me.

But I do love him.

And you, you bastard, what do I feel for you?

I watch you, as the days pass, as you slowly, so slowly, learn to be yourself again.

I watch your hair grow back, I see your dislike of the new white stripe, of the scars, of the way there are things you will never relearn, an ease that is gone.

Aging does not suit you, Caradhil.

Pain and injury do not bring out the good side of you.

I do not like what you have become.

I see you when your – step-sons? So, your pursuit was rewarded, was it? You landed him in the end, your widower? Did it make you happy? Does he make you happy? – come to visit, and you are – ordinary.

Somehow, even after everything, that hurts.

To have lost so much, so much of my life wasted over someone so – ordinary.

Still you do not recognise me, and I do not say.

Finally, you are to be discharged. 

I want to say it then, to tell you who I am, what you did to me. I hug my confession to myself, as once I hugged my love for you.

Was it worth it, Caradhil? 

Have you been happy all these years?

Have you?

Happy with your – old man?

Happier than you would have been with me? With that bright, shining boy that I was? That boy who adored you, would have done anything for you, to make you happy?

Has he made love to you better than I ever could?

Has he?

Clung to you, whispered, screamed, moaned your name?

Begged and pleaded?

Spent money he didn’t have on gifts for you?

Did he ever do that? Flowers, chocolates, a card on Valentine’s Day?

And what did you do in return? Laugh in his face, tell him he was a romantic fool?

I doubt it.

In my imagination I plan the words, and I wonder how you will react – guilt, apology, annoyance, embarrassment, shame – or whether you will not even remember me at all.

But when I go to tell you, to show you I am the better man, I have repaid your scorn with quiet help, caring for you while you have been so vulnerable – I cannot.

I stand, helpless, outside the door, for a long moment.

You are – crying.

Crying as though your heart – and it is a long time since I truly believed you had a heart – has broken.

And I find – I find that for me, nothing has changed.

I still love you, Caradhil, bastard that you are.

But I do not show it; I am not that callow youth, I am cool and professional, and I can stand beside you without touching you as I ask what is wrong?

You shrug, and try to cover it all up, to hide it away, but I saw it, and I like you the more for it.

“I came to say goodbye,” I say, and then, as though it is something I say to everyone, “Keep on with the exercises,” I hesitate, but I cannot say anything more personal, “and good luck.”

You nod, and I turn to go.

“I am sorry,” you say, and I look back, but you still look away, “Aglarcu, I am sorry. I wasn’t – if someone had treated one of my boys like that – I would have fucking killed them – I am sorry.”

Oh.

You knew.

All this time, you did know.

“Long while ago,” I say, and you look round, so that I must meet your eyes as I lie, “it doesn’t matter now.”

You hold my eyes for a long moment, and nod.

I walk away, and this time, this time I know it is over.

Finally, it is over.

I could not bear to see you again.

I love you too much, still.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song  
> I Don't Want to Talk About It, by Crazy Horse
> 
> I can tell by your eyes that you've probably been crying forever,  
> and the stars in the sky don't mean nothing to you, they're a mirror.  
> I don't want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.  
> If I stay here just a little bit longer,  
> If I stay here, won't you listen to my heart, oh my heart?


End file.
